


See Me

by the_haven_of_fiction



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 10:49:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11103015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_haven_of_fiction/pseuds/the_haven_of_fiction
Summary: Modern AU Professor Tom creates a worry-free evening for his elementary school teacher wife after a long week at work.





	See Me

**Author's Note:**

> Contains use of “Daddy” and things of that nature. Non-explicit shenanigans. You have been warned.

He met her at the door.

It had been such a difficult week.

A week of assessments and stress and suits in state offices deciding what “standards” meant.

A week of runny noses and tears and little hands that always needed something.

A week of never ending reports and meetings and late nights.

But now she was home.

Now she was in his arms.

Now she could rest.

Now she could cry.

“I’ve got you now, Pop Tart,” he assured her, knowing that she’d probably gone through more than one box of them this week.

He cradled her head against the soft fabric of his worn black sweater, let it soak up her silent tears for a moment while a hand rubbed her back gently.

“We’re…we’re expected at my parents’ for dinner,” she sniffled and attempted to pull away from him.

He clucked his tongue at her in disapproval at the action and she practically sagged back against him as his arms tightened more securely around her.

“I rang them an hour ago and told them you are exhausted.  We’ll go next week.”

A sigh of relief from her told him that he’d made the right choice.  

“Now, listen to me,” he instructed, his voice taking on that no nonsense comforting tone that made her tingle.  He tapped her chin so she would look up at him and brought his hand up to adjust his glasses, eyes narrowing on her face.

“Daddy is going to take care of his baby doll,” letting a firm squeeze to her bum punctuate the promise, a gesture that initially made her bristle and now made her melt.  “Dinner is almost ready and I’ve put your pajamas in the dryer so they will be warm for you.  Go have a bath and relax and I’ll have everything on the table when you’re done. No protests.  Yes?”

She wondered for a while why he bothered asking anymore, since she’d come to realize that she was nearly incapable of refusing him.  But she now understood that he did it because they both needed to hear her compliance.

“Yes,” she answered in a wobbly tone that was evident of how much she needed this from him.

“That’s my good Pop Tart,” he praised and rewarded her with a kiss on the tip of her nose.

He had to stifle a giggle when she frowned and pointed to her own lips.

“Very well, darling,” kissing her properly this time and then finally releasing her and pushing her towards the bedroom.

She’d been soaking in the tub for twenty minutes when he entered the bathroom in an exaggeratingly stiff, formal way, carrying her fleece Mickey Mouse pajamas perfectly folded on the silver tea tray that she kept in the dining room.

“M’lady’s attire for the evening,” he said in a ridiculous Jeeves fashion, causing her to smile for the first time since she arrived home.

“Would m’lady prefer to dress for dinner with assistance from her humble servant?” he asked, continuing the charade after placing the tray on the marble topped vanity and turning back to her while trying to keep his face neutral.

She sat up a bit, emerging from the strawberry scented bubbles like a mermaid, just enough so that the tops of her breasts were visible, noting with delight the tightening around his mouth in reaction to the sight.

“M’lady would prefer you to strip and join her in the tub and –“

“I’m afraid,” he interrupted, “that such illicit services do not fall within my prescribed duties.  Madame will excuse me.  Dinner to be served in five minutes.”

He bowed with a flourish and exited with lazy strides, chuckling at the annoyed expression on her face and her feeble attempt to throw a handful of bubbles at him.  

But when she stepped out of the tub and into the toasty warm pajamas, a wave of gratitude rolled over and the tears welled again.  This was love.  This made it worthwhile.  This was the most important thing, not the little blobs of toothpaste he always left in the sink or the towel hanging crooked on the rack.  She wanted to strangle him sometimes, wished that she could exert authority over him like she could in a roomful of 25 first graders, wished that she could send home a scathing report card and give him F’s on Bathroom Tidiness in the hope that it would alter his behavior permanently.  

Then the infuriating man with his infuriating accent and infuriating eyebrows would do things like this: greet her at the door with open arms, warm her pajamas, and cook her favorite foods.  She still hadn’t quite managed to figure out the give and take of marriage. By turns she was delighted and bewildered.  Wanting to give him so much, hesitating.  He had been unexpected.  She had to teach herself how to treat him as a partner and not a seven year old.  It was a slow process, although she knew without question that it was what she wanted; it was a truly wondering thing to be cared for, to be treated with sincere concern and dedicated attention. How wonderful to trust someone who desired to see you clearly, who put the time and effort into it.  And even more wonderful, someone who helped you see yourself through his eyes.

He was standing at the stove when she walked into the kitchen, just clicking off the burner under the skillet of perfectly grilled salmon.  Her arms slipped around him quickly from behind and he chuckled at the strength of her grip.

“Does my Pop Tart feel better after her bath?” he asked and placed his own arms over hers.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, darling,” was spoken back to her in a way that seemed almost like a reflex.

She wanted him to know.  

“Not like that.  I mean, I love you.”

The big hands that covered hers tightened.

“I understand,” he replied softly before rotating to face her.  

“I’m hungry,” she stated, licking her lips and smiling up at him.

“Everything is ready, m’lady, as promised,” in that ridiculous Jeeves manner again.

She shook her head and her hands pushed at the rolled collar of his sweater, parting the soft fabric further and exposing the pale skin of his neck.

“Not only for food.”

Those big blue eyes widened when her lips feathered their way across his clavicle.  She tasted him in little nips and nibbles, tongue gliding and swooping.

“Mmm, I see my little vampire is in rare form tonight,” he growled and adjusted his grip on her hips.

“But I’ve spent hours slaving away over a hot stove and we should eat before the food gets cold.”

She lifted her head and let herself put on more of a pouting face than was perhaps necessary, a muttered “You’re not the boss of me” resulting in a swift and not so soft smack to her bum.  A squeak of surprise preceded an indignant huff.

“Oh, but I am,” he informed her, with an amount of glee that made her want to rip off the bloody sweater and the loose cotton sleep pants that he had conveniently forgotten to tie. “I most assuredly am.”

He turned her by her shoulders and let a much more playful swat push her towards the table.

“You know I only married you because you can cook.”

She meant it to sound like an insult, but in his typical irritating way, he thwarted her.

“I am a man of many talents, indeed.  Just ask the neighbors.”

He winked and handed her an ice cold glass of sweet tea, something he had yet to embrace and that she knew he still figuratively wrinkled his nose at; but she also knew he made it for her because it was her favorite and in that sense, it was more romantic than any expensive glass of champagne ever could be.

His talents were on display as they both sat down to dinner.  Everything was delicious and she gobbled it up, not realizing just how hungry she was.  And he listened.  He always listened.  He simply let her vent, let her do so without judgment or much commentary beyond an occasional “Mmhmm.”  

“And what about you?” she asked and put another forkful of asparagus in her mouth.

“Oh, my day was great.  That new class I submitted was approved for next semester.”

“Sweetheart, that’s wonderful!” she praised, reaching across the table to give him knuckles in a fist bump and making him giggle and blush.

He was so handsome, it struck her.  Eyes so expressive, smile so genuine.

“I need to amend my earlier statement.”

An eyebrow raised in curiosity at her words as he handed her the basket of bread.

“I married you because you’re cute.”

They cleaned up the kitchen together while he explained more about the new course he had written.  She was drying her hands and the dishwasher was whirring away when he asked what she wanted to do for the rest of the evening.

“I think that new Marvel film is on telly tonight, with that actor playing the petulant homicidal psychopath, the one you says looks like me.”

He saw immediately that her expression had taken on that questioning, hesitant shade, the one that he had come to recognize as indicating an internal struggle.  It had been a while since he’d seen it and he wasted no time in gently urging her to speak her mind.

“I don’t want to watch a movie, and yes, he does look like you –“ drawing a smile from him, “but I’d rather read. In fact,” she paused and took a deep breath, “I’d like you to read to me.”

“Of course I will,” he answered, practically beaming from being asked, “Go fetch the book and your blanket, love.”

They were settled on the couch a few minutes later, her curled up under her blanket beside him with her head resting on a small pillow on his lap.  A well-loved volume of _Anne of Green Gables_ was in one hand and his other nestled in her hair, massaging her scalp with slow circles of his fingertips.  His voice had a similar affect, somehow seeping into her weary body with a therapeutic quality.  When he finished the chapter that saw Anne and Diana uniting after Anne’s heroics in saving Minnie May, he looked down at his wife.

“More, darling?”

She sat up slightly and removed the book from his hands.

“No, that’s enough.  I’d like to express my gratitude.  For everything.”

The pillow was placed on the floor to cushion her knees.  His long legs had been stretched out while he read and he drew them up, bending them and letting them press against her sides as she arranged herself between them.

His eyes narrowed on the small hands that were inching their way from calf to knee to thigh and ever upwards until they caught the loose ties of his pants.

“Well, who am I to refuse such an expression.  It would be cruel,” the last word leaving him in almost a hiss when her hands found their mark.

He started to remove his glasses, his eyes already closed, his blonde head leaning towards the high back of the couch, when she stopped him.

“No.  Leave them on.  I want you to see me.”

And he obeyed.


End file.
